This man was scarcely many years older than Glenn, yet he had grizzled hair, a seamed and scarred visage, coarse, thick lips, and beetling brows, from under which peered gleaming light eyes.

At every turn he flashed them upon Carley's face, her neck, the swell of her bosom.

It was instinct that caused her hastily to close her riding coat.
She felt as if her flesh had been burned.

Like a snake he fascinated her.

The intelligence in his bold gaze made the beastliness of it all the harder to endure, all the stronger to arouse.
"Come, Carley, let's rustle out of this stinkin' mess," cried Flo.
Indeed, Carley needed Flo's assistance in clambering down out of the choking smoke and horrid odor.
"Adios, pretty eyes," called the big man from the pen.
"Well," ejaculated Flo, when they got out, "I'll bet I call Glenn good and hard for letting you go down there." "It was--my--fault," panted Carley.